Mer-Spider's Crown
by Dragon Courage
Summary: Continuing of The Pain from "A Father" by Melancholy Sunshine. Peter can't remember his aunt and uncle very well. He remembers his dad though. It's kind of hard to forget him. Not that Peter could, seeing as his dad is Namur, King of Atlantis. For most of Peter's life, all he needs to know is under the sea. Till Atlantis is attacked and Peter is taken by surface-dwellers.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: So, I normally don't do text before the chapter, but this one warrants it. First of all, I need to give credit to Melancholy Sunshine! I adopted this prompt from her, one of many amazing plotbunnies up for adoption in her fic, A Father. If you've read that fic, this is the prompt for Namur, where Peter is adopted by the King of Atlantis. I thought it was really sad, but cute so I decided to write it with Melancholy Sunshine's permission.**

 **Second, you may notice this is a little shorter than my normal chapters. That's because it's supposed to be! I'm going to try my hand at the nanowrimo challenge, where you write so many words a day and post it as a chapter. My goal is to write a chapter of 1,000 words a day and post the chapter the same day, for a whole month!.**

 **So, the chapters will be shorter, but in return I will update more. I'm going to be completely honest, I don't know if I can do this, I'm currently a pre-med student in college and I'm also crap with time management and commitment to non-essential activities- ie fanfiction-. But, I am going to try my very best! Please let me know how I am doing.**

 **SO, there is one downside to this marvelous arrangement. While I'm doing this for a month, I'm probably not going to update any of my other stories. Sorry, I know I've left the dragon booster one too long, and I am working on it! It just won't probably get posted this month. Sorry for this super long author's note, just had to let ya'll know this stuff. I hope you like the fic!**

Chapter 1

They came in the flames. When the house was too hot and the dark smoke made Peter's eyes water and sting. They held his Aunt and Uncle down, grabbing him with harsh hands and throwing him over someone's shoulder. His last sight of his Aunt and Uncle was when the men in uniforms locked them in the burning Parker home.

After that, someone put a rag over his mouth and he had just enough time to register the strange smell before his eyes closed and Peter Parker knew no more of that wretched night.

When Peter was next aware, he was leaning against something cold. It was hard too, and Peter realized he much preferred his bed at home. When he opened his eyes, Peter realized he wasn't alone. Peter was in a room with around a dozen other children. It looked as though there was an equal number of girls and boys. Some of the children were still sleeping, while others were crying softly, clinging to each other for comfort. Others were curled up at the side of the room on their own, trembling but dry-eyed. Every once in a while the children would glance at a steel door warily, in fear.

Peter wondered what they expected to come through it.

His question was answered sooner than he would like. The door opened with a slight screech and a clang as it smacked into the steel wall beside it. A tall male figure was silhouetted with cold, white light.

A voice from the room beyond called out, "Get a male this time, they tend to be a bit more hardy. A young one, more malleable for the splice."

Immediately, the children began to skitter away from the man in the door, whimpers and sobbing starting anew. Peter stayed where he was, confused as he watched the other kids, especially the boys, cling to the cold walls in terror. Eventually, Peter was the only one left in the middle of the floor.

Steel plated shoes rang out against the chilled cement floor and a shadow suddenly eclipsed Peter. He turned to see the man silently looming over him. Peter's eyes widened and he tried to scramble away, but the man's arm shot forward and grabbed Peter's upper arm like a vice, hauling him up to his feet.

"W-waait!" Peter tried to protest, but the man paid him no mind, turning and swiftly dragging Peter towards the rectangle of light. Peter may have been an afterthought for all the attention the man paid to him.

The light burned as Peter was dragged into the next room, he pulled his free hand up to cover his eyes, blinking away tears. He wanted to go home. This place was too cold and bright, with people who didn't talk to him. People who didn't look at him, but rather to through him, seeing a silhouette, but not a human being.

When Peter's eyes adjusted, he was greeted with the sight of a sterile, white room with metal cabinets lining the walls. In the center of the room, a slim white gurney sat with a man dressed in a white lab coat standing beside it. The man wasn't even looking at Peter, but Peter felt the icy touch of fear spiral down his spine. It may have something to do with the rather impressive needle in the man's hands.

Without looking at Peter, the lab-coated man directed Peter's keeper, "Get him weighed and measured, then put him on the gurney, please."

Peter was promptly dragged, again, over to a scale with a yardstick attachment. The man brusquely weighed and measured Peter. Then, Peter was dragged once more to the center of the room, where he was hoisted, easily, as though he was put a bag potatoes, onto the cold surface of the gurney.

The chill had Peter arching up and shivering, despite the man's hands pushing him back down.

The scientist glanced his way in annoyance. "For ****** sake, strap him down, you imbecile!"

Strong, uncaring hands snapped equally chilled leather bands across Peter's chest, arms and legs. The sound of the buckle snapping closed sounded like a coffin closing in Peter's ears. As a result of being restrained, Peter's heart rate picked up, his breath coming faster and faster. Where was Uncle Ben? He said he'd always protect Peter!

Finally, the doctor turned around and actually looked at Peter. Peter found he would have rather he been ignored for a little longer. The needle was poised in one hand, light flashing off its shiny surface, while a black recorder was clutched by the other.

The doctor spoke into the recorder, but Peter found he was too preoccupied watching the needle hand to care much. The doctor finished speaking into the recorder and brought the syringe to bear on Peter's left arm, lining it up with the crook of his elbow, where the skin was soft.

Peter sobbed softly a the needle broke the skin and the contents, a bright blue, were injected into his arm. It burned as it went, the veins visible under his pale skin lighting up softly with blue luminescence, spreading slowly from the injection site. Suddenly, Peter's heart was pounding in his ears and his lungs were burning to keep up. The room spun and nausea threatened to take control of his stomach.

Above Peter, the doctor was keeping track of his heartbeat, cold uncaring fingers dug sharply into Peter's wrist. The world kept spinning, faster and faster. Peter closed his eyes to avoid it, but he didn't have the strength to open them again. Even the noises faded into the darkness as Peter passed out from fear, pain, and illness, desperately heart sick for his family.


	2. Chapter 2

Ch 2

Waking up after passing out really shouldn't become a habit. It certainly wasn't a very comfortable one. Peter could attest to that well enough, judging by his aching head and the general soreness of his slim frame. When Peter returned to the land of the living, he was frightened to realize that he was now alone in a small, white walled room. There was a bucket in one corner and a thin mat in the other, with a locked door on the opposite wall. There were bars over the door's window.

Peter stiffly crawled over to the mat, hoping for some insulation against the frigid concrete floor. The air itself was cold and musty, as though the room was deep underground. The room was dark, the only light came through the barred window on the door, the same white, clinical light from the bright room. It made Peter shrink back into his corner at the memory.

His arm, where he had been injected, was sore, aching, and sporting a dark bruise the size of a baseball around the injection site. It was swollen enough to make his arm difficult to bend, so he kept it cradled in his lap. Peter looked around his room with sad brown eyes. Where was Uncle Ben? Uncle Ben was always there to chase the nightmares away. Why wasn't he here now?!

Tears welled up and Peter found himself wishing for his parents for the umpteenth time. When they left him at his aunt's and uncle's place it wasn't supposed to be forever, just a little while. Maybe a few weeks or so...

Somebody... Anybody... Why was there no one to rescue him?

Time passed slowly, yet also at the speed of light. Peter wished it had gone slower when his cell's door swung open with another screech-clang. The same silent henchman stood in the rectangle of light, just as before. And, just as before, Peter was dragged out of his cell with all the gentleness one would apply to a bag of trash.

Peter was dragged through a series of hallways that were lit by bright, white lights, casting a sickly pallor on all the occupants. Lining the halls were doors, like the one to his cell. Past the doors, Peter could hear the heartbreaking sound of children in pain and fear. Sobbing, screaming, and whimpering echoed through the sterile, white halls as the man dragged Peter through them.

Along the way, Peter passed several more adults. Men and women littered the halls, some wearing lab coats and being the more studious type, while others were tall and beefy, obviously belonging to a similar work class as the brute with a vice grip on Peter's arm. Not a single adult looked at Peter. Not as he cried, begged, or pleaded for rescue. The only one that did made Peter shiver. It was like the woman in the lab coat was viewing a piece of meat instead of a child.

After a few more twists and turns, the henchman dragged Peter back into what looked like the same room as before. It was hard to tell though, all the rooms Peter had seen thus far had been the same pure, clean white. It could have been a different room, despite having another gurney in the middle and more steel cabinets lining the walls. It looked like it was the same doctor too, but Peter couldn't be sure. Last night, or whenever he had been in this room last, had been very frightening and Peter hadn't paid attention to the man's face, more the needle in his hands.

Peter was also afraid now.

Uncle Ben.. Aunt May... Where are you?

Peter was once more strapped onto the metal gurney, despite his protests, which neither adult seemed to hear. All too soon, the doctor was looming over him. Peter watched him with wide brown eyes, the man didn't have a needle yet, but he found himself unable to look away regardless.

"Alright," said the doctor, "Looks like this one survived the night. There is a contusion around the injection site, so there was some tissue damage, but it seems to have stopped spreading with a radius of about 2 inches, with minor swelling."

Peter whimpered as the man handled his swollen elbow, he wasn't gentle, grabbing and prodding without a care for the owner of said arm.

"Due to the burst capillaries surrounding the primary injection site, the secondary injection will be introduced via the opposite limb. A cortizone shot to the neck should also promote tissue health there. Subject is alert and aware with healthy skin coloring. Heartbeat is within normal limits, if a little high. Temperature is normal. Beginning Secondary Injection."

Peter's breath caught when he saw the doctor grab a syringe from the tray beside the gurney. Not again!

This syringe contained a clear fluid, a sharp contrast to the terrifying iridescent blue from the night before. Though, it was no less terrifying when the doctor began to clean the side of his neck a swab dipped in alcohol solution. Peter tried to flinch away, but the henchman grabbed the sides of his head, forcing him down and still on the icy metal gurney.

Peter's eyes watered as he felt the signature sharp pinching pain in the side of his neck. He squeezed his eyes shut to prepare for the nausea and dizziness that would accompany it, but it didn't come. Instead, he felt it as a cotton ball was taped over the tiny wound.

Peter opened his eyes to see the doctor's back to him. When the man turned back around, Peter started crying again in terror. In the man's hand was another syringe of the glowing blue fluid from the night before. This time, the doctor swabbed Peter's good arm clean. The shot was administered in swift, short order.

Peter yelled as the fluid once again entered the surrounding vessels near his elbow. It felt like there were fire ants swarming inside of his arm. The dizziness and nausea from the last time was back with a vengeance. Peter could feel his heart racing so fast, surely if it went any faster it would burst!

Peter thought he would pass out again, his vision went dark several times, but he managed to hold on to consciousness by the skin of his teeth. The doctor and the henchman still towered over him, keeping track of his heart rate and reactions. Peter felt like the lions at the zoo he had so loved to see. On display. He didn't like it.

The doctor started talking into his recorder again after several more minutes, during which Peter's heart rate had slowed and the burning in his arm had dulled to a bearable throb. "Subject has remain conscious after the secondary injection, heart rate and breathing remain elevated, but within safe perimeters. Reactive rise in both were noticeably lower and less stressed than the first injection's reactions. Subject is adapting and accepting more of the serum than anticipated. Very promising."

A few more minutes passed as the white coated man made several other comments and took down a few notes and measurements. Eventually, it was deemed safe enough to move Peter and the henchman once again hauled him up by his upper arm, earning a pained cry from Peter as they were now both bruised or bruising. Peter was taken back to his cell. He felt so sick and weak that all he had the energy to do was crawl over to his mat and collapse into a ball. He wasn't awake long enough to even be bothered by the chill in the room.

 **AN: Here's the next one! maybe I can do this, lol:) BTW, Seeing as I post these the day they are written, I don't have time to edit or get them proofread. I'm sorry for any spelling or grammar mistakes on my part, send me a review or pm, and I'll fix them when I can.**


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Peter next became aware of a scraping noise coming from the locked door of his cell. He opened his eyes just in time to see a small rectangle of light slip shut at the bottom of the door. There must have been a flap there he hadn't seen. Which, seeing as Peter hadn't had his glasses since he was brought here, and he doubted they would have been considerate enough to remember to grab them or keep up with them, made sense that he couldn't see the fine details.

Peter crawled closer, seeing a metal tray and a bowl of what looked like congealed oatmeal on it. There wasn't a spoon, so Peter just picked the bowl up and tilted it back, drinking the gruel. It was gruel, he decided, he had seen his aunt make something similar once.

The 'food' tasted bland and was long gone cold, but the beauty of hunger was that it made anything taste better. Peter was so hungry he licked the bowl and stared at the door flap in longing. Peter gently returned the bowl to the tray, moving it so it was in reach of the door flap, before taking refuge on his mat again. The floor was so cold...

Peter's arms were painfully sore whenever he tried to flex them, so he stayed as still as he could. Even the sides of his neck were beginning to ache, but Peter hoped it was merely the affect of sleeping without a pillow. Both inner elbows were now painted with splotches of purples and blues. Peter's left arm was beginning to heal, the outer parts fading into yellows and greens. He hoped he wouldn't be taken back to the room. If they tried to stick another needle into either of his arms, as sore and swollen as they were, he wouldn't know what to do with himself.

Probably cry some more.

Peter looked around his cell miserably. Where was Uncle Ben, or Aunt May? They were supposed to scare the boogie man away, why couldn't they do the same here?

Peter sniffed as tears started welling up in his chocolate brown eyes. It was cold and awful here. He wanted to go home, so where were they?

The little six year old couldn't comprehend a world where his family didn't come to save him. Peter fell asleep again to the sound of his own muffled sobbing echoing in the dim cell.

* * *

They didn't come that day, or what Peter felt like was a day, but they did come the next. Each time it was the same. He would be dragged through the too bright hallways, strapped to the gurney, and injected with more blue fluid, occasionally accompanied by another 'cortizone' shot to the neck. His elbows stayed bruised and painful and his neck kept getting sorer by the day. Peter felt as though it was swelling, but without a mirror or anyway to look at himself, he couldn't be sure.

They didn't feed him very often, which left him weak and cold. Occasionally, Peter saw other children, children who had the same bruising on the inside of their elbows. The children were quiet and glassy eyed, skinny and pale, and they never reacted when he called out to them, Peter wondered if that was how he would be eventually. Peter tried smiling to one boy, only to realize that he hadn't smiled in so long that it made his lips hurt.

In all the time, when the days and injections began to blur into cold and sick and hurt, Peter's Aunt and Uncle never came, nor anybody else. Peter began to doubt that they ever would.

* * *

There was shouting. People were shouting and running around in the halls outside. It was keeping Peter from sleeping, something he did often to try to conserve what little energy the gruel afforded him. Occasionally, he could hear phrases. Things like, "... Been discovered!" or, "Leave the subjects... Have the data... Hurry up!,,... Scientific personnel first... Clean up crew later..."

Peter was too tired to care. His neck was swollen and hurting and the doctor had given him something called a activation injection in his arms and neck. It was supposed to speed up the 'cellular absorption and adaptation' or something like that. He had seen a lot of other kids getting the same thing, so he could only guess that they were trying to make something other than sore, swollen elbows happen.

Even Peter's ears hurt, they burned at the edges, agonizing if Peter even brushed them against his mat. His neck was swollen on both sides, making it difficult to sleep as Peter usually slept on his stomach and turned his head to the side. Peter was so tired, if only the yelling outside would be quiet, for just a little bit. Then he could pretend he was somewhere else in his dreams.

Eventually, outside his cell did quiet down, only the sound of the occasional hurried footsteps drifting through his door. Peter closed his eyes and slept.

* * *

The burning got worse as Peter slept. It was so hot, Peter felt like he was burning alive. Surely, his skin had to be melting at this temperature?

Peter writhed on his mat, cold but a pleasant memory in comparison the the fever that now held him. It was awful. It felt as though he couldn't breathe, like the air was sandpaper flowing into his lungs. And his neck!

It burned and throbbed. No matter which way he turned, it still hurt. And it hurt even worse if he touched it!

Peter eventually rolled off his mat, trying to find relief through the frigid cell flooring, but eve that was only temporary relief. Eventually, Peter propped himself up to sit against the wall farthest from the door. He would press one side of his neck against the cold wall at a time, taking turns as each side throbbed and ached against the cool white walls.

Eventually, he lost enough energy to pass out, much to his relief. He wasn't awake enough to hear the screams of agony that rang out from the other children's cells, or how eventually they tapered off in wet rattling gurgles and coughs.

 **AN:**

 **Sorry if this was a little choppy. I wanted to make sure to mention important details, but I also didn't want to take too long on this arc. This was originally supposed to take one chapter to get to this point. it stretched into three? woops**

 **Anyways, I don't appreciate writing about the experimentation and torture of children, so I wanted this done as quickly as possible. Hence the little time skips, cause logically it probably would have taken at least a week for the gills and other features to manifest, not those unrealistic instances where it's like one injection and boom! totally new features! I didn't want to write the whole week or so that Peter's gills developed under his skin, so this is what you got.**


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Peter slept for a long time, although he didn't know it, thankfully missing the brutal awakening and then self-mutilation of the children in the cells around him. As he slept, the sides of his neck opened, revealing soft, blue-green streaks that lead into his throat. They glistened with moisture at first, but as he slept on, they began to tinge gray and the edges began to chap and flake. His ears, at some point whilst he slept had sharpened into points, the insides rearranging to adjust for water pressure and submarine noises, also becoming very acute in the process.

In between his toes, a soft, thin layer of skin grew connecting them. His webbed feet twitched in the cold air and curled into his body, trying to get warm.

Inside his eye lids, a second, clear membrane formed, to keep his eyes open and clear even under water. His nostrils developed flaps to close whilst underwater, to keep water from going down the windpipe unfiltered by the gills.

Through all this, Peter slept, thankfully oblivious to changes his body underwent major external and internal changes.

It was the familiar, yet dreaded, screech-slam of the opening door that woke Peter. It wasn't his. His door was still locked tight when he opened his eyes. His eyes. There was something on his eyes!

Peter whimpered softly as he balled his hands up and rubbed at his eyes. It wouldn't go away! He tried to turn his head, but the sudden stinging pain in his neck stopped him. It burned!

Peter let out a choked, pained cry as tear sprang to his eyes. It burned so much! It wouldn't stop, now that he had moved and woken the pain, it remained a biting agony.

He lifted his hands, pressing at the sides of his neck, where the pain came from. Aunt May said you should never scratch a boo-boo, it only made it worse. But the pain wouldn't stop!

Suddenly, a great ripping of metal rang out as the heavy steel door was ripped off its hinges and thrown down the hall with a clang. It frightened Peter so much that he withdrew his hands from his neck- it burned!- and skittered away, into the corner with his mat, and pressed his back against the icy wall. The fluorescent lights of the hallway illuminated a hulking male figure standing in the doorway. The man was easily much bigger than the biggest guard. Peter flinched away from him in fear, even as he said, "Be still child. I will not harm you."

Peter pressed himself even more firmly into the corner, trying to get as far away from the man as he could, even as his neck still blazed. Even the cold wall on either side of his neck didn't help. Despite his Aunt May's warnings, he had to scratch, it was the only way.

His nails hadn't been cut in all the time Peter had been in the bright cold place where no one saw him as a person. It left then long and ragged, perfect for stopping whatever was hurting his neck.

Peter scratched desperately at his neck. He just wanted it to stop hurting! The pain of his nails cutting into the soft skin there hurt, but the burning of his neck hurt even worse, and the scratching at least distracted Peter from it a little.

The man in the doorway didn't stay in the doorway, he started walking toward Peter. Peter let out the sobs that had been building in his chest since he woke up to pain. He just wanted it to go away, the pain, the man, this place! He wanted his Uncle's bear hugs and His Aunt's forehead kisses. Peter wanted home.

Peter's nails drew blood and he wanted to cry some more at the relief of something wet against the burning patches of his neck. Somehow, despite the blood being warm, it felt cool against his blazing skin.

Suddenly, Peter's wrists were grabbed, the man had reached Peter and now he wouldn't let Peter scratch. But his neck still burned. It burned so bad!

Peter thrashed, throwing his whole body into it and pulling at his captive wrists. He screamed 'bloody murder,' as his Aunt called it, and threw himself forward with his mouth oped in an attempt to bite the man that was being so cruel to him. Couldn't he see that Peter was hurting? That he burned?

Peter screamed and thrashed as much as he could. But, he was small, the man was big, and Peter was already tired when he woke up. Days or more with only gruel to eat, a mat to sleep, and needles for company had left Peter weak and sickly. He tired quickly.

The man, sensing that Peter was tiring and might listen, said, "You need to stop touching your neck."

Peter thought it was advice that his Aunt would give him, but she would also be able to make it completely all better. Kiss the boo-boo, put a band-aid on it, and make it go away. This man didn't.

Peter looked up the the mad kneeling over him. Maybe if the man knew how badly he was burning, he would fix it?

"I-I hurts." Said Peter, his voice weak and scratchy from dehydration.

"I know, but I can help you-" And suddenly Peter's mind shot straight back to whenever he tried to complain that he was hurting to the lab-coated man and the multiple burning injections that usually followed.

"No!" Screamed Peter in raw panic. He twisted, once again throwing himself from side to side to get free. "No more! Please no more!"

Suddenly, one massive hand was now holding both of Peter's tiny, bony wrists; the other arm was scooping his legs out from under Peter to cradle him against the man's broad chest. Peter twisted, trying to squirm away. He turned his head away from the big man, refusing to look at him.

Without another word, the man carrying Peter stood and walked outside into the hallway beyond, into the light.

 **AN: Sorry if the ending there is abrupt, but I hit 1000 words, realized its 11:00 at night and if I wanted to make it before tomorrow and actually post a chapter a day, I need to find a stopping spot. That was the best spot I could find. Luckily, since I'm writing for NanoWrimo, you'll get the second part of this tomorrow, so it's not like you have long to wait. Well, goodnight.**


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

In the light of the bright fluorescent bulbs, Peter could see what the man holding him looped like. He was tall and musclebound, obviously keeping up a strict regiment of physical activity. He was more muscled than any man Peter had ever seen, even when Uncle Ben took Peter to the gym on occasion. More muscled than Matt, and he took his training very seriously.

The man stood very, very tall. His head was just a foot from the had dark, short hair. His hair was slightly longer in the front, what would be bangs laying back along his head along his hairline. Peter noticed he had a sharp widow's peak to match sharp, hooked eyebrows which coupled with the angular contours of the man's face to make a very sever expression. Peter couldn't bring himself to look into his intimidating blue eyes. Instead, he kept squirming, trying to get at his neck, which still burned!

Peter whimpered as he struggled, while the man continued walking down the hall, not affected by Peter's thrashing in the slightest. The stranger wore a leathery vest of some kind of fish scaled, though Peter didn't want to meet a fish with scales That big. Some of the scales were almost as big as his tiny fist. The vest lead into a belt and pants, so Peter- on the side, while trying to itch his blazing neck - supposed the vest was more of a shirt with no neckline. Aunt May would call it im-mod-is-t. He missed his Aunt.

Peter kept struggling and occasionally yelling, once going so far as to try and bite his captor, but realizing the strange fish vest-shirt was all he could reach- and it was thick and tasted like it looked, fishy. He didn't want the strange man to bring him to the lab room again. Peter didn't want anymore needles. He's surely had enough shots to last a lifetime.

However, instead of taking Peter down the normal route to the white room with the gurney, the strange, tall man strode confidently down a different hallway, one Peter had never been dragged like so many pounds of dead weight down before. This new hallway opened into a large white room, bigger than the lab room Peter had been in before.

In this new room, Peter was terrified further by the beings that were there. They were big, like the man carrying Peter now, but they were also blue with lighter blue markings wrapped upon their bodies. A water filled tube ran to their necks where it opened into a clear bubble, encasing what looked like blue-green gills on the side of their necks. The other end of the tube ran back to their waist, where a belt with water filled bubbles and filters ranged.

They all wore the same pants and despite their lack of shirt, Peter got the sense that these... Water men were all some kind of soldier. The only one who looked different was the person who held Peter.

Peter whimpered and hid his face in the shoulder of the man carrying him. Those water men were huge! And they had sharp teeth! Peter was even more terrified to see the same gills as those water men on the normal man who held him. Was this man really any safer?

It was so confusing and Peter had no idea what was going on and he wanted his Uncle Ben and his neck still burned!

Peter heard one of the water men approach by the sound of his footsteps. The water man's voice sounded normal enough, at least he spoke English anyways. "My King. Is that?"

Peter wondered who the water man was calling a king. He had never met a king.

"A Survivor. He needs medical attention," said the man carrying him. Peter could feel the rumble of his voice where his head rested against the man's shoulder.

The water man stepped closer and Peter tried to press his face further into the man's muscled shoulder. He heard the water man gasp and flinched, terrified of a negative reaction.

"My King," the water man sounded strangely concerned, "forgive me for asking, but are those?"

"Yes," said the man carrying Peter. And Peter realized that the water man was calling his holder 'my king.' "The child has their little project. And they'll be coming back with us."

Peter frowned against the king's shoulder. He didn't like being called a 'they', king or no king. Peter muttered, "M' not a they. M' a boy."

Peter wanted to take the words back when he sensed the king's attention return to his hidden face. He didn't want them to be angry and hurt him. Instead, the king asked, "You have a name, boy?"

Peter didn't want to answer at first, Aunt May told him not to tell his name to strange people, it was dangerous. But, really, Peter thought, he had already been kidnapped. Maybe this man would take him home, Peter had his address memorized, like his Uncle taught him. He pulled up the last dregs of his tired, forgotten courage and muttered, "Peter."

"Hello, Peter," and the king's voice was kind and warm. Like Uncle Ben's. "I am King Namor."

So he really was a king. Peter lifted his head just a little, so he could meet King Namor's eyes. Aunt May always said to look at someone if they were speaking to you. "Hello," said Peter, shyly trying to still keep his face hidden from the water man standing in close proximity.

The king smiled like he spoke. Kind and warm. "Hello," Namor returned.

Peter tried to smile, but he hadn't done it in so long that it was hard. "Are you here to rescue me?" Cause that's what warm, kind kings do.

Namor kept smiling as he answered, "Yes, I am, Little One."

 **AN: This is 10 mins late, apologies. I'm not feeling good today, so to be honest, I'm lucky I got this out at all.**


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Peter's attempt at a smile became a little more real as the King told Peter he was being rescued. Soon he would be home, warm and safe with Uncle Ben and Aunt May. In a new house of course, the old one got all burned up. But, soon he would be in their arms and everything would be okay, even his burning neck.

Peter weakly lifted his head a little further from the king's shoulder and asked, "So, you'll help me get home? To Aunt May and Uncle Ben?"

King Namor frowned slightly before replying, "We'll certainly do our best to get you and your family reunited, but first, we need to get you looked at and taken care of, Peter."

Peter dropped his smile quickly. He didn't want anyone to look at him! He'd had enough of that with the lab coated men and women that hurt him! They looked at him like an animal or piece of meat! Peter started struggling again.

"No!" Peter yelled, his voice hoarse from dehydration. "I don't want to be looked at anymore! I just want to go home!"

Peter sobbed in pain as he struggled against the steel bands that were King Namor's arms. Yelling made his neck burn even worse, both the inside and the outside. He need to scratch!

King Namor wasn't bothered by his squirming, he simply tightened his grip on Peter's wrist so that he couldn't claw his own throat out. Namor gentled his voice to try and calm the child in his arms, worried for the child's already weak constitution. Peter needed to get into water, be fed and have some good rest to recover. Even in Namor's arms, he could feel Peter's feeble thrashing weakening in exhaustion.

"Peter, we're not going to hurt you. We're going to make you feel better, make your neck stop hurting, okay, child?"

Peter slowly ceased his fighting, but Namor wasn't sure whether it was because he was listening or if his weakened body simply didn't have the energy anymore. Peter lay limply in Namor's arms, trembling still as he sobbed against Namor's shoulder.

"Peter, we are going to find your family and get you back to them, but it's going to take a little while. We need to make sure you're well in the mean time. I'll bet you're hungry, aren't you? We're going to get you something to eat, make sure you're warm and comfortable, and tend you back to health."

Peter sniffed softly and nodded, his eyes turning dull now that all the fight was gone. Pete thought he could trust the king, but he just didn't know. Everything was so strange, from the water men to this massive giant holding him. If Peter was being rescued, why couldn't he immediately be taken to his family, to let them kiss the boo-boos away?

But Peter was tired and hurting, and it didn't look like fighting did a whole lot of good when the person he was fighting was so much stronger than he was and claimed to want to help Peter anyways.

Peter resigned himself to staring dully around him, exhaustedly watching the water men as they went through various computers and lab equipment. From what he could tell, they were recording and then destroying whatever they found. They didn't seem to want to leave any evidence that this lab existed.

The King shifted Peter to a more comfortable position, although he still kept a firm hold or Peter's hands, before he turned his attention once more to the water man standing beside them. Peter had forgotten momentarily that the water man was there and curled tighter against the side of King Namor, frightened.

King Namor asked the water man, "How is the retrieval going?"

The water man straightened and answered, "Very well, my King. All of the Hydra agents on site have been captured or taken care of. The men are taking anything of importance and destroying the rest. Unfortunately, it seems that the command chain knew we were coming and all the upper personnel were evacuated, along with what appears to be all the vital data from the research conducted. The only personnel left appear to be grunt agents ordered to make a last stand."

Namor sighed, frowning. "That complicates matters. Take the captured Hydra agents back to our ops base for questioning. Be sure to search the files of the children for a file under the name 'Peter.' from the looks of it, they were doing experimental research to synthesize Atlanteans using human children as a base."

The water man looked horrified as he asked, "Did they take the other children with them?"

King Namor's frown deepened and his eyes darkened in sorrow. "No, they did not. Peter was the only survivor. The rest did not survive the researchers' crude methods."

The water man soldier's face turned a paler shade of blue. "Great Neptune! They're only children, how could anyone do this? I've got a daughter at home and..." The soldier sadly shook his head. "What should we do with the remains? Their families will have their own ways they wish to honor them. Oh, tides, how will we tell their families?"

King Namur adjusted Peter against his side, so he could both hold on to Peter's hands and hod Peter himself, before laying a comforting hand on the soldier's shoulder. "Hydra is an evil of many depravities, a danger to both young and old. These are not the first lives cut short by their harm, and unfortunately it won't be the last. We must look on the positive side of every conflict if we are to retain our zeal in combating such evil. Today, good, innocent lives were lost before their time, but we did save one. And, even if just for one, it was not in vain."

Peter stared wide eyed up at the king as he spoke. He didn't understand much of what the man said, but somehow, he felt the meaning truer in his heart. Being kidnapped and hurt by mean, evil people had been the worst thing that had ever happened to Peter in his short life, but he had also been rescued. As soon as he was back home, with Aunt May and Uncle Ben, he was going to be okay. Everything was going to be okay.

Peter let himself sag into King Namor's arms, peacefully going limp. He was exhausted. The king had said that it would take a little while to get Peter back to his family, so it would be fine to take a little nap, right? Peter's eyes slipped closed and he drifted away into the darkness.

 **AN: I feel like every king is entitled to encouraging speeches about hope and happiness. Also, keep in mind that Peter is going to grow up hearing that stuff. When he finally makes it to the surface world, he is going to be quite noble and princely.:)**


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

When Peter woke up, he was warm. It was the first thing he noticed as it was such a stark contrast between the sterile, terrifying lab and wherever Peter was now. Peter almost didn't want to wake up, he felt so comfortable. Yes, he still ached a little in his arms and a few other places, but he was warm! Even his neck didn't burn anymore, instead if felt sore and inflamed, like when Peter once got a bruise on top of a really bad carpet burn.

It hurt, but it was so much better than it was. Peter opened his eyes to a soft blue ceiling. The sudden reintroduction of color made him smile and giggle. It was so pretty! Peter never wanted to see the color white for the rest of his life!

Trying to sit up was a messy matter, one that involved multiple attempts and no little effort. All of Peter felt clumsy and weak. It was hard to coordinate enough to use his arms to hold himself up.

Peter was in a plain, small room. Oddly enough, the main colors were blues and greens and the ceiling looked like it was made of rock, merging with the wall seamlessly, as though the room was dug into a rock wall. It was so odd.

Peter found himself surprisingly elated at the wall to the side of his bed having a window set into it. Peter couldn't see out of it from where he was sitting, but soft blue light filtered through to dance on the opposite wall- which was made up partially of a closed curtain, once again blue- rather prettily. Peter wanted to touch the light, it was so beautiful. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt the kiss of the sun on his cheek.

Peter wanted to touch the light. Just to feel it. Groggily, Peter rubbed his eyes with the back of his hands. Huh, that was weird. He could see really well, but he didn't have his glasses. Peter squinted, to determine whether it was just a trick of his eyes. Nope, he could see all the way across the room in detail. Well, wasn't that dandy?

But, Peter had more important things to be doing, like getting up and touching that light. Wobbly, peter scooted over to the side of the bed, once more feeling strangely clumsy and lightheaded.

Peter felt something brush his arm and frowned. He tilted his head to look and froze. The blanked was floating! Once he had untucked it from around himself, his blanket glided in the air, weightless!

The sound of rustling drew Peter's attention from the miraculously floating sheet over to the curtain, which was being pushed aside. A blue woman floated through, apparently suffering from the same weightless malady as Peter's abandoned blanket. The woman wore a white coat.

White coat. White coat. White coat.

"AHHHHHHHHHH!" screamed Peter, startling the woman, who responded by screaming as well.

"NO!" Yelled Peter as he flung himself off the bed. Instead of hitting the floor, Peter somehow hit the wall. He floated too! Peter paid the realization no mind as he stared at the woman in horror. Her coat was so white! It was danger! She was danger!

With another scream, Peter dove under the bed, instinctively pushing off the wall using his feet. He knocked his chin on the rocky- was this whole building built in a mountain?- floor but managed to squeeze between the bed and the floor. It was a tight squeeze, the water woman white coat would never be able to crawl in after him.

After Peter hid under the bed there was silence, only the soft breathing of his own body keeping Peter company. Then, Peter saw hands gently grab the edge of the bottom of the bed and his heart rate picked up again. A blue face, to match the hands, peeked under the bed, eyebrows furrowed as she looked on him with concern.

"Peter," she said, and he jerked because she knew his name. How did she know his name?

"Little One," the water woman continued, "you don't have to be afraid. Nothing will hurt you here. Can you come out from under the bed?"

Peter wanted to. She seemed very nice and trustworthy. She reminded him of his own mother a little, though Peter hadn't seen her since the plane crash, he still remembered how kind she was.

But, just as the woman's hair drifted down with the float mechanics of the room, so too did the edges of her white lab coat. And, upon seeing it, Peter started hyperventilating and a terrified keen escaped his lips. It was danger and hurt!

The woman pursed her lips, unsure what was upsetting her charge so, she had just come in to see if he had woken up, and if so to check on his healing gills, but upon seeing her the boy had panicked. She wondered if it had something to do with the child's race. Were all human children this skittish? Perhaps as a defense mechanism against the many dangers of the surface, they only trusted their parents.

Nakita, as she was called, was puzzled over the small human-Atlantean hybrid. If he acted more like his Atlantean side, she would certainly know what to do. Atlantean children were comforted by tactile comfort and music. They were very sensitive to sound and tone and enjoyed being held close whilst being sung to. But, Nakita supposed, Peter was only newly part Atlantean. His new instincts may not have fully kicked in yet or they may be recessive in comparison to his primary human DNA.

What had those scientists done to the poor child? Nakita had a young boy of her own at home and she shuddered at the thought of her own son going through such.

The boy's lips parted and Nakita hoped he would speak, if only to tell her what frightened him so.

"Namor! King Namor!" The child's voice rang out clear in the small room of the palace infirmary, surprising Nakita.

 **AN: So, who can tell me what Peter doesn't realize here? It's something specific that I dropped major allusions to and if nobody gets it, I will be very very concerned at the collective IQ of my readers.**


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Namor scowled down at his desk, kelp sheets scattered across it in disarray. Go away on a surface mission for just a week and the whole kingdom needed to be put back in order, it felt like. King was really just another word for country wide babysitter. Surely, people could hold onto their hats for one week, one would think. Apparently not, if the slew of documents and incidents that required his attention were to be believed. Although, Namor considered, he supposed this was to be expected only a few months after relocating. Building a stable country from nothing takes time.

A knock sounded at the door of his study, the guard posted within his study straightening to attention, gaze trained with precision on the entrance. Namor relaxed as he heard the voice of the outside guard announce, "One of the healers from the royal infirmary is here to see you, my King. She says that she requires your attention and the matter is urgent."

Namor called, "Enter," as he pondered what could require his presence in the infirmary. There shouldn't be anything, except... Peter!

It was one of the nurses Namor recognized as working in the royal infirmary that swam through the door. She looked frazzled, her dark blue hair sticking out at odd ends from the tightly woven sea grass bun net. "Nurse Karyth, what matter needs my attention?"

Before speaking, Karyth curtsied deeply, bowing her head low. "My king," she began, "the human child you placed in our care is severely distressed. He has hidden himself beneath his bed and refuses to come out. We cannot placate him and he is calling your name."

Namor frowned. "My name?" he asked.

Karyth nodded, "Yes, my king. We're worried he might hurt himself if he remains like this."

"I see," answered Namor. "Take me to the child. I will calm him, myself."

Nurse Karyth dipped her head, saying, "Yes, my Lord."

She turned and swam swiftly, leading Namor through halls and across courtyards, eventually leading him to a stone construct dug into the very rock of the slope flanking the palace.

Withing the stone building's walls, nurses and medical staff roamed the halls. Cabinets stocked medicines and small fluorescent brain coral clusters. The brain coral gave the hospital a soft blue light, lending the hospital a serene atmosphere. Nurse Karyth led Namor down several hallways before she stopped before a curtain leading into a room separate from the rest of the hospital. Within the room, Namor could hear the noises of at least one nurse softly trying to coax the child out from hiding.

Namor stepped into the entryway and the nurse looked up in surprise.

She rose to attention and bowed. "My king," she said.

Namor lifted his hand, not wanting to waste time on formalities when he was more concerned with the sobbing under the bed. "At ease," he told the nurse.

Namor sank softly to the floor, lowering his body until he could see underneath the bed. Backed into the corner between the bed and the wall, curled impossibly small was the boy child. His eyes were shut tight, brow crinkling from the force of it. His tiny hands were wrapped tightly around his knees, knuckles white from the pressure.

"Peter," said Namor.

Peter jerked slightly, eyes opening to reveal red rims and more tears. Peter stared at him in miserable surprise. Namor inwardly winced, the child must have been crying like this for a long time. While Namor couldn't boast ever being commended as an excellent father, he was a father, children not being in the picture or not. When he saw the boy curled in on himself and frightened, it reached a part of his paternal instincts and he couldn't help but react as if the boy were his own. Especially after the ache left over from Kamar.

Namor spoke softly, not wanting to spook the child. "Hello, Peter. Do you remember who I am?"

Peter mutely nodded, his tears ceasing now that he was distracted.

"Who am I, Peter?" asked Namor, wanting to keep Peter occupied and calm for as long as he could.

For a moment, it looked as though Peter would forgo answering to continue staring at Namor with his big blue eyes. Eventually, though, Peter whispered, "Namor."

Namor smiled gently, keeping his expression soft and open. "Very good, Peter. Now, why are you under the bed? It can't be very nice down there. There's probably all kind of creepy-crawlies under there."

This was able to call a shy smile from Peter, his lips twitching up nervously, white teeth peeking out from behind them. "I'm not scared of creepy-crawlies," answered Peter. "I think they're cool."

Namor lifted an eyebrow, asking, "You do?"

"Mmm-hmm," said Peter, nodding. "My uncle gave me a book on insects and arachnids for my last birthday."

"How old did you turn?" Asked Namor, hoping to get some more information about the child in his care. His tech department was currently going through the files found in the abandoned Hydra base, but they had yet to find anything so convenient as a list of 'children kidnapped and where they come from.'

Peter grinned wider, showing off a gap in his teeth that Namor hadn't noticed before, where an adult tooth had yet to replace a lost baby tooth. Peter appeared more comfortable than he had been earlier, daring to pull one hand from around himself and display his spread palm proudly. "I turned five!" Peter boasted, a priceless little giggle following the statement.

Namor allowed his smile to widen in response. Once Peter was no longer crying, he was quite a sweet child boy. Trying to keep it that way, Namor asked, "What's your favorite creepy-crawly from your book?"

Peter's face screwed up in concentration, clearly thinking really hard. He looked back at Namor and asked, "Can I pick two favorites?"

Namor answered, "Of course you can, Peter."

"Okay," said Peter, grinning once more. "Then my favorites are the Peacock Spider and the Cyclosa Spider. The peacock spider has a blue body, and blue's my favorite color! But, the cyclosa is really cool, too. It draws in it's web! It has these super special designs that help reflect UV light to draw in their prey!"

"That's really cool, Peter," replied Namor. He was impressed by how smart the kid was. He was only five, but he obviously hosted a curious, learning mind in that skull of his. "Did you know, that where we are, we have different kinds of creepy-crawlies than normal?"

Peter's eyes lit up. "Really?" He asked.

"Really," answered Namor, "We have all kinds of shrimp, crabs, and other creatures."

Peter gasped. "Are we by the ocean?!" He blurted out.

"Well, why don't you some see?" asked Namor.


End file.
